


kerosene & brass

by kinaesthetic



Series: our tiny mountain cottage [2]
Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: Domestic Fluff, F/F, Gen, make that house into a home, welcome to the lone wolf pack
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-01
Updated: 2018-05-01
Packaged: 2019-04-30 05:24:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,773
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14489748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kinaesthetic/pseuds/kinaesthetic
Summary: After breaking free, Amélie wants to rebuild her life away from Talon and Sombra's more than willing to help.Finding a place hasn't been easy.





	kerosene & brass

**Author's Note:**

> a bit more domestic 'what-are-we-beside-ex-assassins' fluff for you!  
> chronologically comes before porcelain & snow

“You can get out if you want, but I’m just going to be looking for places for cameras,” says Sombra, as she gets out of the car. Amélie doesn’t look at her. Sombra doesn’t so much as sigh as she shuts the door, but the set of her shoulders as she approaches the house reveals the depth of her stress. Amélie swallows and tries not feel guilty.

This is the eighth house in as many days that Amélie has visited with Sombra, not to mention the ones they'd discarded without even visiting. She knows it’s unlikely to be the last. There’s always something wrong.

 _Low ceilings,_ Amélie has said.

 _Too many blind spots,_ Sombra has said.

 _Not enough windows_ , Amélie has said.

 _Neighbors_ , Amélie has said.

 _Weak walls,_ Amélie has said.

 _One bedroom,_ they’ve both said.

This little cottage has apparently everything they want on the inside. It’s perfect. One floor and a utility basement. Two bedrooms, two bathrooms, a modest kitchen, open living area, and a nook where the sun from a wide window has imprinted the shadow of a past bookshelf onto the far wall. Amélie closes her tablet and the realtor-procured images fade to black.

_None of it means anything with blind spots._

Their little car has been doing well in the mountains of east France. She turns over her shoulder and looks down at the lights of the village, growing brighter as the sun sets. It’s far from small, but as they drove around the outskirts, Amélie recalls feeling charmed. In many ways, the architecture reminds her of Annecy, of the _vieulle ville quartier,_ with the charming buildings and gentle ghosts. This little town has no canals to speak of but its streets still carry its inhabitants as swiftly.

A quick movement out the corner of her eye startles her. Sombra skids on the gravel driveway, almost crashing into the car as she dashes over to the driver side and yanks open the door.

“Amé, there’s three blind spots, maybe two if I play my cards right.” And when does Sombra _not_ play her cards right? Regardless, Sombra hasn’t looked this excited since the time she spiked Moira’s coffee with a questionable hallucinogenic. “Come look at our new house!”

When her heart resumes a normal pace- normal, as in, not rapid and not sluggish- Amélie opens the car door and steps out onto the wet gravel. It crunches under her tennis shoes- sensible shoes at Sombra’s request. She adjusts her windbreaker against the September chill and looks up at the little cottage before her.

“It will need some work,” Amélie says, frowning. The roof is intact, but that’s all that can be said for it. The posts supporting the porch are flaking and peeling. The stairs to the front door creak underfoot as she approaches with Sombra just behind her.

Amélie absolutely does not jump as Sombra scoffs and says, “Who doesn’t?” just over her shoulder. Taking the key from Sombra, she unlocks the door and turns the doorknob, opening the door slowly. Despite the disarray and disrepair of the outside of the house, the door swings open on well-oiled hinges.

It’s an old house. That much can be said due to the yellowing wallpaper in the foyer, sporting a pattern that might have been floral once upon a time. Amélie doesn’t hate it immediately. It has its own charm in a way, but it still needs replacing.

“It’s older than I thought…” _Not as old as the chateau, but that...is gone..._ Amélie breathes deeply, taking in the smell of dust and carpet cleaner. The floor underfoot is tile and she can see it extends into the kitchen. The dining area and den space floors are both hardwoods though. Sombra skips into the kitchen and starts opening cabinets. Even though she’s singing quietly to herself, Amélie recognizes the bright violet glow at her fingertips, ready to stun an intruder at a moment’s notice. 

With Sombra busy in the kitchen, Amélie examines the rest of the living space. There’s a blackened fireplace on one end of the large room. Aside from that and the lamp fixtures, there’s not a single shred of furniture.

“There was a cute antique store in the village. We could hit that tomorrow.” Sombra peeks out the porch side door, then comes back to the open room where Amélie’s examining the windows’ seams. “What do you think?”

“I think...I expect to find something _wrong._ ”

“What? Alright, killjoy. Let’s look at the bedrooms before you go hating it.” Miffed, Amélie turns to look at Sombra, but finds no judgment in her expression, despite her words. At least, she knows Amélie’s own skepticism is warranted at the core.

Sombra flicks a screen open, casting a bright violet light down the hallway. She beckons and Amélie follows. There’s a laundry closet immediately to the right, followed by a door to the bathroom. It’s a full bath, just like the pictures showed. The bathtub looks just big enough to hold Amélie if she curls up. There’s a bit of water damage around the edges, but a soft tap reveals it’s cast iron. She turns back to Sombra in surprise, who just grins.

“Don’t get too excited, Amé,” Sombra teases. “There might still be something _wrong.”_

Amélie scoffs and leaves the bathroom behind. There’s another closet, but this one is a small linen closet. Then they come to the second bedroom. Amélie toes the door open. The carpet cleaner smell swells, making her cough a few times before she can really examine the room.

It’s not terribly small, by any standard. Right now, there’s nothing but a couple of windows. She checks the closet. It’s modest. She can almost see a bed in here, a chair and a desk, some effects, a bureau…

“What of the master bedroom?”

Sombra gestures across the hall and allows Amélie to open the door of the adjacent bedroom. The master has its own bathroom and a walk-in closet. It’s bigger than the other room, but not by much. The closet and bathroom take up a good chunk of what would otherwise be extra space. Just like the other bedroom, it has a couple of windows and plenty of space for not only a bed but a desk and other things.

“There is a wall between the other bathroom and the bedroom.”

“Yeah?” Sombra crosses the hallway and knocks on the wall. “That could come down, easy.”

“You should take the master.” Amélie watches Sombra’s face light up with relief.

“Is that a yes? But Amé, you haven’t even seen the kitchen!” Sombra leads the way back to the kitchen presenting it with a flourish, rattling down all the improvements that it needs in addition to the features it already has. Amélie doesn’t really listen. She’s already imagining this with lights, furniture, new paint and a roaring fireplace. Somewhere to settle. Somewhere that’s hers.

And Sombra’s.

While she’s ordering a storage unit online with one hand, Sombra locks the front door behind them and they climb back into the car. Amélie stares at the dark house as they drive away, suddenly worried.

“Sombra, we should have left a candle burning.” The sentence made more sense in her mind, she realizes too late.

“What, so it could burn down?” Sombra takes her eyes off the road to shoot her a confused look. “It’ll be here when we get back, Amé.”

Amélie watches the house get smaller in the twilight until it’s out of sight and the side view mirrors show only pine trees and dark silhouettes of rocky outcrops. Illogical perhaps, to think the house won’t be there when they return, but the thought won’t leave her.

When the hair-raising mountain path gives way to the paved cobblestone and charming houses of the village below, Sombra parks outside the realtor’s house and heads inside to finalize the paperwork. It’s odd, knowing it’ll be a legitimate sale, even if done with Talon’s blood money. Money that Sombra says is owed to Amélie anyway, not that Talon knows that its stolen finances are giving their escaped weapon a new life.

_Not that Talon, scattered and burned as Sombra left them, would care._

It takes half an hour for Sombra to come back out. Amélie pretends she hasn’t been drumming an anxious set of holes in the armrest of the car door. She catches the packet of papers when Sombra tosses them into the car. The one on top is a deed, made out to an Ophelia Marchand. She snorts.

“What can I say?” Sombra shrugs. “Shakespeare names made a comeback in the 20s. It’ll be someone’s grandma livin’ on top of the mountain.”

As Amélie flips through the remaining paperwork, bills, contracts, and the like, Sombra drives back to their hotel. When they walk in the revolving door, Amélie feels peculiar. A quick survey reveals nothing suspicious. The golden light fixtures cast light into every crevice of the foyer, so there are no shadows to be found. A few other guests are milling around, enjoying the water fountain and waiting to go out for the night. The omnic concierge greets them with no more enthusiasm than for any other guest. They’re just two women with a legitimate reservation, staying for the night, perhaps tourists, clearly foreigners, but no more unusual than anyone else.

“Sombra,” Amélie says as soon as they’re safely in the hotel room. “We found a house.”

“And we _bought_ it.” She flops onto one of the beds and flicks open some screens above her. Amélie slips her shoes off and pads over to the other bed, sitting down to watch Sombra work. Sombra wiggles over until there’s enough room and, after a moment of hesitation, Amélie lays down next to her, looking up at the dozen purple-tinted websites.

“You ever decorated a house from scratch?”

Amélie rolls her eyes but thinks back nonetheless. Amélie Guillard had a room as a child that she was allowed to decorate, but never paint. Amélie and Gerard Lacroix had an apartment, covered in hideous wallpaper. But... they also had a little country summer house with _pineapple yellow_ walls and _chiffon blue_ trim in the kitchen, _wild orchid_ walls in the bedroom, and _seabreeze blue_ in the parlor. Widowmaker had quarters with blank grey walls and a stasis chamber filled with blue-grey fluid.

Amélie shuts her eyes and exhales. “Once, I think.”

“Great, so you can tell me if I’m doing this wrong!” When Amélie turns her head to the side and regards Sombra, her expression is strained, nervous even. She lifts the hand closest to the other woman and rests the back of it on Sombra’s forehead. “Amé?”

“You sounded uncertain,” Amélie deadpans. “I thought you might be sick.”

Sombra bats her hand away, laughing. “Glad you think you’re funny. Now pick out a bed frame. We’ll have it delivered to the storage unit, but I bet we can sleep at the house tomorrow if we play our cards right...”

* * *

Rays of sunlight on Amélie’s face wake her, just like the past two mornings. The air mattress will need refilling before that night though, as she can nearly feel the floor beneath her as she sits up. Every night so far, Sombra has grumbled about the air mattress, but for Amélie, the discomfort gives her a reason to wake up and paint, to finish the job all the faster.

There’s no less than twenty cans of paint at her disposal at any time, not to mention the five cans of primer they've already used to paint almost every interior wall in the house. She steps around them gingerly, ignoring Sombra’s sleepy protests. The plastic drop sheets crackle underfoot on her way to the bathroom. Both bathrooms are still somewhat of a neutral zone; they’ll be the last to be painted. For now, Amélie rummages in her suitcase and gathers what she wants to wear for the day.

Amélie showers and changes into a fresh set of underclothes before donning her coveralls and a tee-shirt. With her hair in a bun, she feels different. The woman in the mirror almost looks content.

Sombra doesn’t so much as stir when she re-enters the den. Undeterred by the silence, Amélie grabs a paint chisel and pops open the nearest can of color paint. On the wall in front of her, painter’s tape denotes a pattern of chevrons in the corner to the right of the front door, but the colors weren’t chosen yet. It was time to consider.

She lifts the lid, ignoring the dab of paint on top. A lake of _mint condition_ reflects her sour expression. It's a pale green color Sombra had chosen purely for the pun, but it did not suit the den. She replaces the lid and tries the next can. _After the rain_ , a pale blue that Amélie picked for herself, gets resealed and put into her bedroom for later.

Rather than take her chances on opening every color until she finds one she likes, Amélie detours through the kitchen and swipes the paint cards from the counter, shuffling through them until she finds a color that speaks to her vision. In the end, it’s not the chevrons she’ll be painting first at all. Amélie pops the selected can and dips a finger in it. Much to her dismay, Sombra wakes up to a nose covered in paint.

“Boop,” Amélie smirks at her scandalized expression. “Good morning, Sombra. You’re in my way.”

Sombra wrinkles her nose. “Ew, this smells worse than the primer.” She wipes her nose off with her shirt and glares at the offending color. “Yellow?”

Amélie gestures to the wall behind the air mattress, then at the front door and windows across the room. “ _L_ _antern light_ , actually.”

Sombra blinks, then grins. “That’s nice. Carry on. I’m going back to sleep _right here._ ”

She rolls over and curls up.

“ _Quoi? Non, mon dieu-_ ” Amélie huffs, standing and grabbing the nearest unused paint roller. She considers taking off the long handle but with what she’s about to do, the more distance, the better.

Sombra starts giggling as soon as the fluffy roll touches her back, shrieking and kicking as Amélie rolls it up and down, under her armpits, over her belly, and anywhere she can reach. Sombra tries to push it away but Amélie moves it too erratically to be caught.

“Amé! _Amé!_ Stop it, I can’t breathe!” Sombra manages to scramble off the mattress and run to the kitchen, hiding behind the half wall between the den and the kitchen.

“The sun is up! We’re supposed to be painting, you brat!” Amélie shouts, running after her, not caring that she nearly slips on the drop sheet. It’s exhilarating chasing Sombra around the house, screaming like wild children and messing up everything in their wake.

 _Would I have done any of this alone?_ Amélie wonders as Sombra accidentally kicks over the open can of  _lantern light_ in her frantic escape from the kitchen.

 _Would I have gotten this far without her?_ Amélie wonders as Sombra realizes her mistake. They both stare at the growing pale yellow puddle on the plastic sheet, then slowly meet each other’s eyes. Technically it’s one less paint tray they’ll need to use, but _Sombra_ doesn’t know that. Amélie hefts the paint roller a single centimeter and Sombra takes off, her laughter echoing off the hallway walls.

“I’ll buy you another one, Amé!”

 _When Sombra asked me if I wanted to leave, I never could have predicted this._ Amélie corners Sombra in the master bathroom, but the door is locked. She draws herself up to her full height. It’s a silly game. She will _not_ kick down a door  _in their new house_ for a silly game.

“Sombra, I have not done anything alone since I left Talon!” Amélie shouts, admitting this to both to herself and the cackling woman behind the bathroom door. “And I am _not_ about to start now.”

The door lock clicks and the door swings open, revealing Sombra lounging against the sink counter. “You’re just saying that because you need me to help with painting.”

“The last time I checked, we are both living here.” Amélie spits out a hair that’s escaped her bun and made its way into her mouth sometime during the chase. Sombra raises an eyebrow, then grabs her own coveralls from the towel rack.

“Aw, just logic? And here I thought you liked me.” Sombra holds her hands up in surrender and marches out when Amélie points to the hallway with the roller.

_That is…an admission for another day._

**Author's Note:**

> just one more installment in this series, no timeline on when though!
> 
> i have a lot of domestic feels that im trying to get out of my system...


End file.
